The Politics of Drinking - Part 1

Well, let us put it this way. I am a drinker. And I’m a very good drinker. You know how when a professional athlete ends his career and they retire his number? When I stop drinking, they will retire my liver and it will be at my favorite bar in a glass jar filled with formaldehyde. When I drink with my friends it is an event. One of my buddy’s wife said, “You guys drink until the cows come home.” And she was right. Because when the cows got there, we made White Russians! (Oh and people who say, “You can have fun without drinking,” are full of shit!

I started drinking in high school. (Wouldn’t have it been fucked up if I said I started drinking when I was four years old? Could you imagine a hammered four year old raising hell? Driving like a madman, actually it would be a madkid, on his Big Wheel and trying to nail his baby sitter? I would like to see that kid on one of those bullshit reality shows like Super Nanny, and watch him just fuck with her!)

High school drinking was when we were amateurs in the art of partying. We were just glad to have alcohol, because it was hard to get, so we just slammed it and never really enjoyed it. The extents we would go to trying to get some booze was crazy. If you were lucky you had a big brother or big sister who would buy it for you. But of course this would always be accompanied by the speech of, “If you get caught, don’t tell Mom and Dad I bought it for you, ok?”

One of the worst ways was the “Hanging in the Liquor Store Parking Lot Method.” My friends and I would stand about 8 cars lengths away from the store. Then we would scope out people as they walked in to get there booze. We had to make sure the person looked cool, but not untrustworthy cool. (Because that was the asshole would steal your money and not deliver your goods.) Finally we would get the courage up to approach some one and ask them if they would buy some alcohol for us. This was always a hassle because you couldn’t go in a group, because that would look too shady and look too obvious. So it would usually come down to rock, paper, scissors for who would be the person who pulled it off. When you had to be the one, you would always worry that you may approach an undercover cop and then you would be arrested and be totally fucked! (Which when you think about it, how many undercover police officers are cruising parking lots to bust teens trying to buy booze?) Anyway, it would usually take a few rejections, but finally some nice soul would hook it up. (It was so awkward asking people to buy it because it made you feel like a derelict. Oh and we always prayed that we wouldn’t be seen by one of our parent’s friends in the parking lot.) And of course the person who did the deed would always say, “If you get caught, you didn’t get it from me.”

To be continued...